


All But Forgotten

by spyrosapyro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyrosapyro/pseuds/spyrosapyro
Summary: Harry finds himself lost and struggling after the war, and his friends don't know how to help him. When he runs into an old acquaintance, will he be able to finally pull him out of his slump? Canon except for ignoring a few deaths. Rating for later chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey all! I've been gone quite a while from the fan fiction community, but I'm back! I've had this story rolling around in my head in bits and pieces so I decided to write it all down and hope to get it to you quickly!
> 
> as always, reviews are always welcome. I'd love to hear your feedback and what you would like to see! 
> 
> enjoy! xx

He climbed the stairs of 12 Grimmauld Place angrily, snapping the lanyard off from around his neck that housed his now useless nametag and discarding it on the stone steps as he reached for the handle. Honestly, he didn’t need the job anyway. He still had plenty left of his parent’s money, and he figured it would be easier for all involved if he just lived off of that for the rest of his life. He slammed the door closed behind him, fuming, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, hoping maybe he could salvage some sort of meal for himself.

The room was dark and he was grateful for the absence of company, something that seldom happened in the large house, even now that the war was over and it wasn’t technically needed as the headquarters for the Order. He opened the refrigerator, the soft light within bathing the room in a pale yellow glow. “Of fucking course,” he growled, slamming the door closed once he realised it contained little more than butterbeer and mayonnaise. He moved instead toward the pantry, rummaging through the little he found there in the hopes of putting together something edible, if not satisfying. He found a can of soup, not a type he particularly enjoyed, but it would have to do, and took it back with him toward the stove. He heard footsteps descending the stairs and paused, hanging his head as he leaned against the counter, another deep sigh escaping his lips. So much for a peaceful meal.

“Harry?” The voice questioned, and he rolled his eyes. Who else would it be? He ignored the soft call as he retrieved a pot from the cabinet, and charmed the top off his can of chicken noodle. The footsteps were almost silent as they entered the kitchen, signalling it was his godfather that had joined him, but he didn’t turn. Whatever Sirius wanted was most likely not worth his attention, anyway. He heard the scraping of a chair across the wooden floor and he grimaced down into his now simmering soup. 

He took a breath, setting the soup to stir itself before finally facing the other man with a questioning stare. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until the morning.” Sirius said hesitantly, leaning his head on one of his hands as he stifled a yawn. Harry suddenly wished he’d had the good sense to close the door quietly, if only because it would save him the agony of the conversation to come. 

“They fired me.” He said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest to hopefully stave off any more questions.

“Ah.” Was all the reply that came, and Harry knew that Sirius wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, after all. Nor the second, nor the third. He’d been fired from every job he’d tried to hold since the war had ended, not that he cared. Something about ‘attitude problems’. They were worthless positions anyway. He nodded once, turning back to his soup.

“I know I’ve asked before, but don’t you think you might have an easier go of it if you take your NEWTs? I mean, it’s been a while, yeah, but you’re smart. You can take the tests no problem, and get a real job.”  
Harry rounded on the man, temper instantly rising back to it’s boiling point. “I’m not going back to school.” He growled, not wanting to have this conversation again. “So stop asking.”

Sirius nodded, the disappointment clear in his eyes as he stood, moving to make himself a cup of tea. Harry heaved a deep sigh, and saw the older man’s shoulders sag slightly as he did so, but it didn’t stay his hand as he kept fixing himself a cuppa. 

Harry served himself a large bowl, taking a seat at the other end of the table from where Sirius had been sitting in the hopes that he would return either to his previous chair or vacate the kitchen entirely and leave Harry to himself, although he figured he would have no such luck. He blew on a spoonful to quicken the process along, scowling.

“I’m worried about you,” The words were soft, and Harry wondered if Sirius even expected a reply. He snorted, shaking his head. Here we go.

“Ron and Hermione are worried, too, you know.”

“Yeah? Talk about me behind my back a lot, do you?”

“Harry, you know that’s not what I meant.” His tone was gentle, and somewhere inside him Harry knew he meant well, but it did nothing to calm him.

“You know what? I’m not hungry.” He pushed himself away from the table forcefully, chair legs grating across the old floors as he did so. He left his bowl and the rest of his soup, not caring much what became of them, and stormed off upstairs.

Sirius listened to the stomping footfalls and the subsequent slam of his bedroom door as he sipped his tea, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He wondered where his godson had gone - the godson he’d known when he was in Hogwarts - the happy, humble, and kind man. Now replaced with a bitter shell of what he once was, of what he could be once again. 

He cleaned up after him with a flick of his wand, having become quite adept at household charms since Harry moved in after the fall of Voldemort. He looked forlornly back at the two chairs, still askew from use, before turning the light off and making his way back upstairs.

 

 

Harry heard the voices drifting up from the living room as he woke, wishing not for the first time that there was a way out of the house that didn’t deposit him in their line of sight. He rolled over in bed, groaning slightly as he was reminded just why he always ended up out looking for a job after resigning himself to living off of his inheritance: he wanted to avoid them.

Sirius’ voice carried easily up through the house, as did Ron’s, and although he couldn’t hear them from his bedroom, he was certain that Hermione and Remus were there as well. His whole happy family, probably posed for another intervention. He wondered idly if he would be able to apparate out of the house, and more importantly back in later, unsure of the exact parameters of the warding Dumbledore had put into place before his death. 

He reached out blindly for his glasses, cursing quietly as he pushed them off the nightstand in his attempt. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat for a moment, pondering whether or not it would be worth it to lay in there for the rest of the day. Deciding it was probably only a matter of time before someone was sent to retrieve him, he stood, stretching his aching limbs as he reached for his glasses from their spot on the floor and shoving them roughly onto his face.

He glanced down once at his worn muggle jeans, brushing at a stray piece of lint that had fallen there at some point during the night. He could get another day’s wear out of them. He grabbed a discarded shirt and after a short inspection, deemed it clean enough to go out in, and pulled it over his head.

His hand rested on the handle to the door, and he took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever was awaiting him downstairs. 

Harry wanted desperately to be able to pass by the living room unnoticed, but his suspicions were proved correct as he walked by, an overly excited “Oh, Harry!” issuing from the room as he did so. He stopped his steps, turning back slightly and leaning on the door frame, a blank expression on his face as he waited to hear what they wanted. Even now, he didn't have it in him to ignore his best friends, as much as he might want to. 

Hermione looked a little off put as he waited, clearly having expected some sort of greeting in return, but after a quick glance at Ron she continued. “We just made some tea, I have a cup here for you. One sugar and a splash of milk, just like you like.” Her tone was warm and inviting, and it made Harry’s stomach churn. 

“Sorry. Can’t. I’ve got errands to run.” He turned to go, but another voice stopped him.

“Harry, mate. I haven’t seen you in ages. Can’t we just talk for a bit before you go?” This time it was Ron, trying to guilt him into feeling like a bad friend, which he supposed, he was. Only it didn’t bother him and he stood there, frozen, one hand still on the door frame as he contemplated walking out without another word.

He didn’t want to turn back. He didn’t want to sit with them. The four of them, with their worried looks and their loaded glances sent to one another when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. The only one that was tolerable anymore was Remus, and that was only because the wolf had the good sense to stay quiet most of the time. But his silence didn’t help Harry when the other three were there with him, and he shook his head. “No thanks.” He said, forcing as much politeness as he could muster into the small sentence before leaving the house.

He distinctly heard Sirius’ voice as he neared the front door. “I just don’t know how to help him, Remus.” A quiet “I know” followed, before he closed the door behind him and apparated away.

oOo

Quarter after two found him in the Leaky Cauldron, staring pensively into his third or fourth drink, he'd lost count. It was a quiet day in the pub, or he wouldn't have bothered with such a public place. Even now, when the war was over and the Wizarding world had left him to his own demise now that he'd done his duty and lost all usefulness to them, there were still a fair amount of fans and hero worshippers and quite honestly, he wanted to hex the whole lot of them. They didn't care about him, they never tried to help. They simply wanted a piece of his fame, a story to tell their friends, and he refused to let them steal what little of himself he had left. 

He'd lived his whole life for them, sacrificed himself and everything he dreamed of. Solely to save everyone else. And the worst part of it was that he hadn't had a choice. ‘Pig for slaughter’ he'd heard in the Pensieve. He snorted once, shaking his head at accuracy of the statement. He grimaced, flexing his fingers around his almost empty cup as he the memories he’d seen swirled around his already clouded mind. He always felt confused when Snape came up, he didn’t know what to feel anymore in regards to the old Potions Master. He had been the one person to give up as much as Harry had, only Harry had been able to come back from the dead. His Professor had seemed outraged in the Pensieve, which made the boy question their whole relationship when he had been in school. Had the man truly hated him? Or was he forced to hate the bane of his Dark Lord’s existence to save face? He guessed he would never really know - it didn’t matter anymore.

Now that the war was over, what was he to do? That was everything he'd been working toward, everything he'd focused on for his whole life. And while the rest of the world celebrated, time seemed to stand still around him. He didn't know who he was without Voldemort, he didn't know what he was supposed to do now that his sole purpose in life was seen through, and he was only twenty one. 

He supposed he was never meant to live. Even Dumbledore had planned for Harry’s eventual death, and some days Harry thought it may have been easier to stay aboard the train at that white station, wherever it went. Anywhere's better than here. He thought, the irony of the statement hitting him hard. 

Most days he wanted to hate the old headmaster for what he'd done to him, but he couldn't. He'd been the only one to give him some semblance of a life, to try and make his burden any easier. Most days he missed him terribly, turning over his very first chocolate frog card in the hopes of catching even a few minutes of conversation with the man, but he seldom came. More important things, Harry figured. Just like everyone else. Everyone else who moved on with their lives and their families and left the Golden Boy, the Hero of the Wizarding World, in the dust behind them. 

He polished off the rest of his drink and left a hefty amount of gold on the counter for good measure, hoping it was enough to keep Tom from mentioning he'd come through. 

Vacating his stool, he wobbled slightly, not having taken into account the fact that he'd skipped breakfast when he started drinking. He grumbled under his breath as he adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath, heading for the door. 

The chime above him twinkled a hello as someone entered, but he turned up his coat collar and pushed past them, trying only to make his way to the apparition point at the end of the Alley. He quite physically bumped into someone on his way, and muttered a quick sorry before trying to walk around them, when they spoke. 

“You would do well to watch where you're going next time.”

The words were quiet, but deadly. A hushed, thinly veiled threat that sounded oddly familiar. And that voice. He'd know that voice anywhere. It had haunted his dreams ever since the night in the boat house and for a split second he could have sworn he was still sleeping in his bed back at Grimmauld Place, the whole morning a mundane dream. But the body he had run into had been decidedly real, and the slight spinning of the street below him convinced him of the reality of it all. 

It couldn’t be, he was simply imagining it. He’d been thinking of the man not ten minutes ago; that was why. His mind was playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

He turned slightly, eyes going wide as his sight confirmed what his mind already knew. 

“No,” he breathed, a small puff of steam rising before him in the cold. “You, but you….”

“As coherent as ever, I see. I am…. glad to see you made it through the war, Mr. Potter.” The words were strained, as if it took everything in the man to show even a shred of decency, and Harry quite expected that to be the first, and very last time he was ever on the receiving end of it. 

“But, you died. I saw you die.” 

“Coherent and astute. My, my, how we've progressed past our Hogwarts days. I assure you I am not one of your drunken delusions and am very much alive, boy. Now, I have things to do.”

And just like that, Severus Snape turned on his heel and with a very characteristic billowing of his black robes, strode off down the street, leaving a gaping Harry Potter in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stood, dazed, for a moment longer, trying to wrap his head around this new information. He suddenly regret the last drink or two, wishing he was more sober in order to process what had just occurred. He turned back, looking down the Alley, but the man was already gone, vanished from sight almost as quickly as he appeared - although that much could probably be credited to the alcohol. 

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned slightly, catching sight of the camera poised to flash as the man drew nearer. He grumbled slightly, shaking his head and hurrying his steps toward the Apparition Point.

oOo

For the first time since he moved in, the house was completely empty and he cursed everyone that lived there in that moment for being gone. They were annoyingly present when he didn’t want them there, but the second he actually did, nothing.

Harry paced the living room angrily, having taken a sobriety potion as soon as he came home in case they wanted to pin what he’d seen entirely on his drinking. Or maybe they already knew - it would be just like them to hide something like this, wouldn’t it? A little voice in the back of his head, the voice of reason, chose that moment to remind him that if they had hidden it, it was probably not done maliciously. Harry and Snape had hated each other in school, at least, Harry had, and Snape had at the very least pretended to, and done so very convincingly. They probably thought he didn’t care. 

That thought stopped him in his frantic pacing, the house eerily silent as his thumping footsteps ground to a halt. Why did he care?

He didn’t have time to think it over though, as he heard the door open and close, the four muffled voices carrying to him through the hall. He resumed his pacing, running an agitated hand through his hair as he waited for them to make their way into the room. Harry knocked into the coffee table for good measure, making sure they knew he was there.

“Harry?” Hermione was the first to find him, but he didn’t slow his incessant pacing, breath coming hard and fast through his nose - whether it was from the movement or his revelation, he wasn’t sure. He nodded once to acknowledge her and she glanced warily over her shoulder, an equal mix of worry and curiosity written plainly on her face.

Lupin joined her at the door, a single upturned eyebrow the only indication he felt something more than a neutral acceptance of his surroundings. He was surprised, Harry could tell, but the wolf was stoic until the end and simply placed his forearms along the back of the chair closest to him before speaking in his usual, quiet tones. “I wish we’d known you were coming home - we’d have waited to go to lunch.”

Harry nodded again, eyes glancing up to meet Remus’ grey ones quickly before finding their place on the battered carpet below him once more.

Soon enough, all four from this morning joined him, sitting in their exact positions from before, except this time, quietly waiting. At least, mostly quiet.

“Harry, son.” Harry grit his teeth at the word, but otherwise let his godfather go on. “What’s the matter?”

He slowed his steps, gradually coming to a stop by the fireplace and he leaned an arm against the mantle, eyes trained on the picture of his parents as he took a deep, steadying breath. If they were to believe him, he had to be rational, and he had to be calm and collected. Three things he had lost his grip on a long time ago.

He turned, pinning the two older men with a serious, if only slightly resentful stare. “Did you know?” His voice was harsher than he’d intended and he cursed himself silently. Good start, Harry.

He shook his head, frowning slightly before starting over. He figured gauging their reactions if he just came out and said it would be the best way to figure out if they had been hiding it from him.

“So, I ran into Severus Snape today.” The words were calmer than he felt, almost casual, and he was absurdly proud of himself for managing to keep himself in check. “In Diagon Alley.”

His happiness faltered, however, as he took in the looks around him. Hermione and Ron looked shocked, if not slightly confused. They either didn’t believe him, or couldn’t understand how the man was possibly still living. He moved his attention past them, content with their reactions.

His eyes landed on Sirius and Remus, sitting together as they were. Remus looked contemplative, which Harry assumed was as good as he could have hoped for, but Sirius looked almost….disappointed?

“Harry, Sniv- Severus died. You saw him die.” He could see the calculating look hidden behind the brown eyes, and he knew in an instant Sirius knew he had been drinking. He was pinning this on the alcohol, and Harry had to fight back his rising temper at the silent accusation.

“I’m not drunk, Sirius. I saw him. I ran into him - literally! I talked to him. Snarky bastard he always was, but I swear, it was him!” He looked helplessly from one to the other, but disbelief was written clearly on every one of the four faces before him.

“You don’t believe me?” His voice gave away his growing frustration and he bit his bottom lip hard, trying to stymy the anger he felt roiling in his stomach.

“It’s not that we don’t….believe you, Harry. I just….I don’t see how it’s possible.” Hermione’s voice was soft, and he had the distinct feeling she was only telling him what he wanted to hear, to stop him from storming off as he always did. It wasn’t working.

“It wasn’t possible for me to come back from the dead, but I did, didn’t I? Nobody argued I wasn’t me then, why is this so different?” He looked from face to face, but the room was silent. That was different. He could practically see it written on all four of their faces and he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought off an impending headache. “Why would anyone want to pretend to be Snape of all people? There’s nothing to gain from it, half the world hated his guts and the other half never believed he worked for Dumbledore to begin with!”

He waited for an answer he knew wasn’t coming, the silence that met his words deafening. He shook his head slowly, a single chuckle escaping his lips. How had he gotten this way? How had he drifted so far that not a single person trusted his word anymore?

“You know what,” his voice was quiet again and he exhaled sharply, sending a glare to each of them in turn. “You don’t have to believe me. I’ll prove it.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, stomping his way up the stairs and slamming his door as he threw himself onto his bed. He had absolutely no idea how to do it, but he knew he had to find Severus Snape.

oOo

Harry woke early, earlier than he had in years, and his mind was perfectly clear. He sat up, yawning once before rummaging through his drawers. Finding some of his last clean clothing, he pulled on a nice pair of dark wash jeans and a button up shirt, grabbing his nicest set of robes on his way out.

The house was quiet - part of the reason he’d gotten up so early. He would have to answer less questions on his way out, a small miracle. He heard shuffling footsteps as he neared the front rooms however, and he swallowed in hesitation. He probably could have been quieter, in hindsight, but at least it was only one person at this hour. He was betting it was Remus, as Sirius tended to sleep in, but was proven wrong as his godfather came around the corner, eyes heavy with sleep and a steaming cup in his hand.

“You’re up early.” Harry commented, shrugging into his robes as he slowed his steps, stopping only for a moment to talk to the older man. 

“Huh? Oh, you too.” Sirius nodded once, bringing his cup up to his lips with a contented sigh. 

Luckily for Harry, Sirius was not one for mornings, and he almost smiled at the dazed look on his face. Almost.  
“Alright, well, I’ve got some errands to run. You should probably go back to bed for a bit.”

“Full moon.” Sirius grumbled, rubbing a tired hand against the back of his neck as if to relieve a kink. “Don’t sleep well when he’s….out.”

Harry nodded once in understanding, but he couldn’t stay any longer and he put a hand awkwardly against Sirius’ arm before moving on, sure that the wolf would be back within an hour or two.

He looked around, transforming his robes into a long muggle jacket as he decided to walk in favor of apparating. There weren’t many people out, and it looked like the coming day was going to be beautiful. It had been a while since he’d gotten a decent amount of fresh air, and he was glad to finally have something to do. To have a purpose. 

He strode down the streets, turning a corner and slowing his steps slightly as the chipped paint of the phone booth came into view. He took a deep breath before pulling the door open, the color much more red than he remembered it. He steeled himself for what he was about to do, not having set foot in the building since the summer after what would have been his seventh year - a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, right after the war had ended. He had been hauled in for questioning and praise, given all sorts of medals that sat collecting dust on his shelves at Grimmauld Place.

They were some of his best and worst memories rolled into one - the last time he’d been himself. The last time it had felt like the world gave a damn about him, before it realised it had no use for The Boy Who Lived.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he reached out and grabbed the old fashioned phone, dialing ‘62442’ with only slightly shaking features, a detail he was irrationally proud of. He glanced around himself; he knew that the booth had been spelled so no muggles would realise what was happening, but he held the phone to his ear until it had dropped below ground regardless.

This was it, there was no turning back. He grimaced slightly, transfiguring his coat back into the more appropriate robes just in time for the Ministry lobby to come into view before him. He tugged on the neck of his cloak, smoothing the front of his shirt down as the door opened, and he took a few hesitant steps toward the front desk. 

The place was as busy as he had ever seen it, and he wondered idly if the Ministry ever really closed, or had a lull in activity, although he was starting to doubt it. A few curious glances were sent his way, but no one stopped him, a fact he was grateful for.

“Harry!” The voice was familiar, and warm, but he jumped slightly regardless. 

“Oh, er, hey Hermione.” He nodded, relief flooding through him that it was just his friend that wanted his attention, and he fell in step beside her easily.

“What brings you here at...six o’clock in the morning?” Her gaze was puzzled, but she seemed happy to see him out of the house, even if it had brought him to the ministry.

“I just…” he sighed, their conversation from the day before running through his mind, and he was unsure whether or not he should tell her the truth. “I wanted to see if I could figure this Snape thing out.” He held up a hand as her lips downturned slightly into a frown, silently pleading with her to let him finish. “I just have to know, Hermione. And if he’s...if he’s really dead, then that’s fine and I can handle that. I’m just...curious.” Harry glanced up at her, hoping that was good enough to get her to let him through, if not help him.

“Come on, you still need to sign in, but they’ll probably leave your wand alone. Just a formality.” He understood what she wasn’t saying: he needed to put his name down but they wouldn’t dare ask more of him, of Harry Potter. He shrugged, wishing he could have swung by without documenting that he was there, but he supposed this was the second best option. 

“I’ll wait here.” He nodded once to her before striding towards the desk they’d stopped in front of, and unsurprisingly, Hermione had been right. He simply signed his name and flashed the girl behind the desk his fakest smile before gesturing for Hermione to follow him to the lifts.

“You work in law, shouldn’t there be some sort of records or something?” He asked, wondering where he was even going to start looking for the other man.

“I’m not sure, we could look up records from the….the morgue at St. Mungo’s. That’ll tell us if his body was ever interred there. If not, then I suppose maybe sales records for Potions supplies?”

“Potions supplies?” Harry asked, disbelievingly, although he successfully managed to keep the disdain from his voice. 

“Well, can you imagine him doing anything else?” She defended herself, indignant. Harry fought back a grin, rolling his eyes as a slight sigh escaped his lips.

“Fine, fine. It’s a better place to start than some.” He relented, shoving his hands in his pockets and playing with the seam he found within, unable to stop fidgeting in his anxiety.

It seemed like the lift took forever to get to the proper level, and the interdepartmental memos flying about his head were annoying him to no end, but he kept silent, refusing to remove his hands from his pockets in case he reached out and crumpled the small paper airplanes circling above them.

“This is us. Thankfully most of the records are on the same level.” Hermione explained, waving him on to keep up with her as she made her way briskly toward a door at the far end of the hallway.

He started eagerly in on the records housed within, a simple search as they were organized by year and then by surname, but the appropriate file was devoid of the Potions Master’s name. Harry could feel a slight smile growing on his face even as Hermione went to check through two other filing cabinets, ultimately finding no record of his death.

“Don’t get so smug just yet, Harry Potter.” She chastised, sounding exactly like she had during their school years. “Just because there’s no records doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. He was a Death Eater after all, and while I believe you and him, most people are harder to sway. The records of his followers weren’t as strictly overseen as the others.” She sounded put out, as if even the thought of of the disorganization after the war was grating on her nerves. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll save the smile for later. Let’s go look at the sales records, yeah?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she turned on her heel and left the room, going across the hall to another, very similar room, except this one housed two desks and an office door at the far end labeled Merinda Pragg.

They set to it again, this time having to painstakingly look at each transaction, and even then it was only the rare and dangerous ones. What if he hadn’t bought anything out of the ordinary? Harry shook his head, if he was still brewing, he wasn’t focusing only on what Hogwarts would need anymore. He was bound to have bought something.

It was slow, arduous work, and just when he was about to give up, one of the last papers in the file he was going through caught his attention. A signature at the bottom of the page detailing the overseas sales of chinese chomping cabbage. It was faded slightly, over a year old, but it was there: Severus T. Snape. 

“Hermione!” He called, barely able to contain his excitement. “Look at this, look.” He pointed to the bottom of the page as she came over, smiling in his triumph. “He was alive a year ago, at the very least. I told you!”

Harry glanced back down at the page, eyes grazing hungrily over what little information it supplied. “Wait, this is wholesale. That means….he’s got to….wait, there was a paper here…” He murmured, rummaging through one of the other files he’d already combed through. “Yes! Look, right here. He owns a shop, an apothecary called Master Potions Inc. Not the most original, but I’ll give it to him.” 

He glanced up at her, determination clear on his face. “Thank you, ‘Mione. I’ve got to go - I’ve got to get to Knockturn Alley.” He smiled slightly, and even through her hesitation, her lips turned up slightly at the edges. It had been a while since even a sliver of the old Harry, the real Harry, had shone through.

He nodded once, but gave her no time to relish in the feeling as he had questions he needed answered.


End file.
